A Moment of Vulnerability
by OspreyEmblem
Summary: When Professor Snape storms from the classroom, Hermione is determined to figure out what is wrong. But will she find out something unexpected?


"Oh, honestly Ronald, you had a week to finish that essay! Why couldn't you have gotten it done?" Hermione admonished, clutching her books to her chest as they raced toward potions class.

"But 'Mione, I had quidditch every day this week, and there was that chess tournament in the Great Hall last weekend…"

"That is no excuse, Ron, even Harry got it done! Harry, tell Ron he had plenty of time to complete his essay."

Harry groaned inwardly. He was tired of their constant bickering on the same topics, day in and day out, and it was worse when they brought him into it. Usually he just ignored them until they forgot why they were fighting, but when they expected feedback he always mumbled noncommittally, which angered them even more.

"Look, 'Mione, I don't want to get involved in this. Look, we're almost to class anyways," said Harry as they approached the door.

They flung themselves into their seats a moment before Snape swept into the classroom, robes billowing dramatically. Strangely, he didn't say a word, but jabbed his wand at the chalk, which automatically started writing the day's lesson plan on the board. He then sat at his desk and glared at them warningly.

Hastily averting their gazes, the Gryffindors and Slytherins got to work collecting ingredients from the store cupboard and lighting fires beneath their cauldrons. No one spoke a word, until Hermione looked up from her potion and noticed him just staring at the papers in front of him, not really reading, but looking a bit…sad? She thrust her hand skyward and stared determinedly at Professor Snape. He didn't even look up from his marking, even when she cleared her throat loudly and waved wildly.

Harry and Ron began hissing at her to just give it up and continue with the calming potion they were brewing, but she was persistent. Finally, she strode up to the front of the room and laid a hand on Snape's desk. He slowly looked up at her with a penetrating stare, one that sent first-year Hufflepuffs into hysterics, but she just stared right back.

"Professor, you haven't given us any instruction or background information. This potion is much farther in the curriculum than we should be! We haven't even covered sopophoric characteristics yet! Why won't you answer our questions?"

His glare made her falter for but one second, then she straightened and glared back. Snape, seeing that she would not back down, leaned backwards and sighed in resignation. He pinched the bridge of his nose and in remarkably soft tones, he replied, "Miss Granger, kindly continue with your potion. It is merely a practice attempt. I've no doubt that this is beyond many of your comprehension, but surely you can produce a salvageable attempt."

Hermione stared at him worriedly; he was being calm and quietly polite, and had even complimented her on her brewing skills. That was not in character at all…

"Professor, are you feeling alright?" She asked quietly, leaning closer to him.

"No Miss Granger. I am most certainly not 'alright'. I do not see how that is any of your business. Please return to your seat," he remarked bitterly, still staring down at nothing.

"But sir—"she began,

"NO, GRANGER! CEASE YOUR INFERNAL PESTERING!" He exclaimed, standing and stalking towards his office. Slamming the door behind him, he left a confused class and a bewildered and slightly concerned Hermione standing in the classroom, shocked into stillness.

After a short pause, Hermione, ignoring the hissed warnings and threats from Slytherins and Gryffindors alike, crept up towards the door, leaning close to it in an attempt to listen to what was happening inside. She was startled to hear soft sobs emerging from the room, barely loud enough to pick up even as close as she was. Slowly pushing open the door, she stepped inside and scanned the room.

Snape was sitting in an armchair, head in his hands, looking utterly desolate. Shaking off her confusion at this uncharacteristic action, she locked and silenced the door before making her way towards him and putting a hand on his shoulder.

He started, turning his face towards her a bit, then letting his face fall back downwards into his hands.  
"You just couldn't leave well enough alone, could you, Granger?" he muttered, rubbing his eyes furiously. "Must you interfere?"

"Sir," she began, "if you need to talk about anything, I'll promise to keep quiet about it." Hermione moved her hand so it was resting on the professor's back, and began rubbing soothing circles. She wasn't sure why she was offering comfort to the bane of Gryffindor, but she couldn't bear to see him so upset. It was a bit of a shock to see his mask of strength and anger come off, leaving, certainly not an ordinary man, but a man nonetheless. A moment of silence, and then…

"My mother died," he said abruptly, "just this morning. She was sickly, and lived alone. Muggle neighbors found her, called the police. They used the number she had of Dumbledore's that he keeps for any calls from muggle relatives of the students, in case of emergency. She was all I had left of my family…" His words cut off as he let out a harsh breath that wasn't quite a sob.

Hermione stood awe struck. She had never pictured this formidable man with relatives of any kind, let alone a mother, who lived in a muggle neighborhood. It was strange, and slightly humbling. Of course there was more to the professor's lives than met the eye. It was only that no one ever bothered to look deeper.

There wasn't much she could do, but stayed by him as he collected himself. At last he gave a final sniff and sat back. Hermione drew her handkerchief from her pocket, wetting it a bit with a quick Aguamenti, and handed it to the professor, who took it gratefully. When he was clean and composed, he Scourgified her handkerchief and gave it back to her, letting his gaze linger on her kind face. He searched her eyes for any hint of mal-intent, but finding none, gave a fleeting smile and rose from the chair.

"Thank you, Miss Granger, I very much appreciate the kindness you have shown me. I hope this shall remain between us…?" he said, quirking an eyebrow at her.

Hermione nodded eagerly. "Oh yes, of course, Sir. I wouldn't tell anyone. We should probably be getting back to class, though, or everyone will believe you have chopped me into potions ingredients." Hermione grinned cheekily, moving towards the door. "I'll leave first, shall I?" Without waiting for answer, she left the room quickly, throwing a backwards glance at the smirking professor and closing the door behind her.

When she turned back around to face the class, she was met with several awed students, all gaping at her cheerful smile.

"HERMIONE! You're alive!" Ron exclaimed. "We thought the greasy git had liquefied you, or something!"

"Pipe down Ron," Harry said, "Professor Snape is still in there. He might hear you!"

Hermione just smiled and returned to her seat, waiting quietly with her hand raised. The rest of the students looked at her, then followed her gaze and were startled to see Professor Snape seated at his desk. While gawping at Hermione, they had failed to notice him gliding back to his previous seat. Looking up, Snape smirked and drawled, "Yes, Miss Granger, you have a question?"

His tone was light, and his eyes showed a bit of brightness. Hermione grinned and replied, "Yes, sir, I was wondering about the sopophoric characteristics of today's potion?"

"Ahhh, of course. I knew I had neglected to mention something. Now, the Draught of the Living Death's main ingredients are Wormwood, Asphodel, and the sopophorous bean, which in combination…" The students were stunned. Snape was actually teaching them! He was being amiable, answering questions, even making non-hostile eye contact! Whatever it was that Hermione did, it sure was a good idea!

After the class was dismissed, but before they left, Snape called out, "Miss Granger, thirty points to Gryffindor for inquisitiveness, and willingness to look beneath the surface of a problem. Oh, and Weasley? Ten points from Gryffindor. I heard that remark earlier."


End file.
